inaniloquent
by paperplanet
Summary: She really should stop saying things like that. Birthday fic for Ana.


_Disclaimer: Do not own Harry Potter._

_A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANA THANK YOU FOR BEING THIS AMAZING FRIEND AND I'M SORRY THIS IS SHORT AND DISAPPOINTING BECAUSE APPARENTLY TRYING TO WRITE IN BETWEEN YOUR MIDTERM WEEK IS A BAD IDEA. HAPPY BIRTHDAY ONCE AGAIN!_

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**inaniloquent**

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"I love you."

The first time she said that, he nearly fell out of a chair. She was buried under this stack of books for this stupid assignment Snape had suddenly decided to give, and because it was worth eighty percent of her grade, she had poured his soul out to do the bloody task. (damn Snape and his moodswings). But different from her, he was a natural with potion (not that he could beat her in any subject other than that, so.) and had finished the essay without even blinking an eye. So there he was, seventeen years old, handsome, and incredibly bored. His feet was propped up on the table, ignoring her scolding remarks of how wildly inappropriate that was. He thought it was ironic how a goody two shoes like her could be one of the three people who always broke the most school rules every year. And even more ironic how she thought breaking into a room with three-headed dog on her first year was okay and him putting his feet up on the bloody library table was not.

She was a bloody hypocrite.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, Granger—shouldn't you be focusing more on that four feet essay? I'm pretty sure you hadn't written more than seven, that musn't even be anywhere near the end, was it?" He had drawled in response, annoyed.

He wondered why he even chose to kept up with her. Sure, they had to get along because they're Head Boy and Head Girl and they're supposed to be a sample of house unity but nothing had forced them to do these study sessions (except for Professor McGonagall's underlying threat in her speech and that creepy gleam in her eyes, of course) this often.

He guessed, it just happened. One day he woke up and saw her and for the first time ever he had no urges to cast silencio whenever she opened her annoying mouth. It was major improvement. But it also felt weird because apparently one day she also woke up and found him not that insufferable so thus those awkward study sessions began to be a routine. (She said it was because he actually got some work done and he had a feeling it had something to do with Potter and Weasley's lack of brain). Anyway, since they finally managed to reach a certain satisfactory status quo—let's just say that no one was in a danger of being in the hospital ward anymore (except for those days when he or she suddenly had their colors clashed, he's green and she's red, what do you expect?). Granger could be insightful sometimes, not to mention that she actually had a brain which was also the determining factor why he was able to stand talking to her. (Unlike with some people in his house who couldn't even tie their own shoelaces. Don't tell any Gryffindoks he said that.)

She huffed and flipped a page of the book on her right, "I just can't seem to find an explanation anywhere about this specific phase of brewing, the only explanation I found is five sentences long and I don't think it covers it up."

"Pass me the paper," he said, tipping his chair back lazily as he reached a hand out towards her.

She gave him the paper and he stared at it for a few seconds to force himself to read it (her handwritings were so bloody tiny). "You should stir it counter clockwise before this particular step, Granger. And no one adds bits of Mandrake into this potion if you're not looking forward to make an exploding potion, even Longbottom would know better than that." She was about to protest, but he cut her off. "Yes, yes, I know what that stupid Romelta and her stupid book said, but since she couldn't even get the explanation of brewing a simple cup of tea right, you should know better than to trust her. Here, take this." He offhandedly threw a thick green covered book that was on his right to her. Considering how thick the book was, she had caught it fairly well.

"What's this, Malfoy?"

She scrunched her nose, looking at the ancient book curiously.

"That, Granger, is the key to get on Snape's good grace."

He was just a little kid when he decided to grab it off the shelf of his grandfather's library, and that was the start of all his great escapades with potion. His great-great-great grandfather's handwritten potion book.

She beamed happily at him as she eagerly flipped the pages of neat illustrated handwritings, and it was suddenly breathtaking how her eyes reflected the sunlight streaming from the window beside her and he was just about to curse the thoughts away when she suddenly looked up and said these damned words. "I love you, Malfoy, really."

His chair lost its balance and he almost fell.

Thank God for his quidditch reflexes and her tendency to not care about whatever happened around her whenever she was studying.

(a few seconds later he realised that what she said was just another expression of thank you, but.)

Hanging out with his fellow Head was a bad idea after all.

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**Fin.**


End file.
